An artless poem, circa 2017

"Nothing ever happens like you imagine it will"

A theory ignored by fantastical escapes

The paradox of having a vision but never bringing it to life like it was in your mind

Is imagination just a focus of energy towards some kind of goal?

When the details seem to mean everything, but when it's all said and done they don't mean anything

Because on the smallest scale everything is made up of the same stuff

What matters isn't really the matter but how it shapes itself

Nothing ever stays the same for long, but time doesn't matter anyway

And who's to say that using imagination won't tune you into some explanation for how this all makes sense

And if nothing makes sense then what do senses reveal?

Just inexplicable things that feel so real

And what about deja vu? Is it just an anomaly or a dream coming true?

There is no you or me, only what is meant to be.

And there's really no measuring the power of thought but it's worth a shot to bring it to life

And maybe I'll never be your wife

And maybe it will be for the best

And maybe you'll never feel my breast against your chest

And maybe I'll finally get some rest

And maybe the desire will fade away, like maybe I drove past it the other day but I can't remember when

Where does the imagination go then?

The problem is that the mind is a map and the heart is a compass

And I'm afraid when I arrive I won't even want this

I'm afraid I don't even know what I want, but I know you'll still be missed

And even though the only place we ever kissed may exist in my mind

That still matters to me.

And maybe when every imagined opportunity has disappeared

Even the ones that you feared were no good

Even though nothing ever happens like you imagine it will,

Everything always happens like it should.

(I’ve had this saved in my notes for 3 years and always felt too vulnerable to post it, but through a series of transformation periods over that time I’ve found it doesn’t feel as heavy anymore, even though it still holds the same weight.)